


Relations

by grayorca15, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Skynet: 900 [19]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Drama, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Upgraded Connor | RK900 Has a Different Name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca15/pseuds/grayorca15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: Wings AU. Don’t go knocking on doors unannounced.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Act one’s almost over. More nonlinear plot for this miniseries, yay. But it’s been a while since we wrote for Elijah. So...
> 
> #whocares

There was a time he might have fretted over dirtying his appearance. That period had seemingly come to an end the moment he landed on Zug Island. Even if he hadn’t known so then, it made perfect sense in hindsight. Where once he was brought up in the sterile confines of the tower on Belle-Isle, being dispatched to an automated trash-processing facility first time out in the world had sealed the deal.

As such, besides being decorated in blood and garbage and soot and all manner of grime since, getting a little mud on his shoes was hardly distressing at this point. Straightening out from where he landed upon the riverbank, Noah strode up the beach toward his destination without so much as a glance down at his sullied footwear. He had bigger concerns awaiting him.

It was bad enough he was doing this behind Detective Reed’s back. If he was going to get anywhere with the attempt, Nosh couldn’t let himself cave to reluctance now. Especially not over something so trivial.

There was every chance Elijah Kamski would close the door on his face, and the man would be within his rights. Approaching him at all would require some measure of courage.

And for what it was Noah intended to ask him about, unannounced but not unprovoked, he would need every last molecule of it his physical being possessed.

This wasn’t professional curiosity anymore.

It was personal.

——-

The swan-winged android assistant to answer the door gave him just the reception he counted on: a blank, if not inquisitive stare. Her azure eyes communicated no alarm or anger. Her LED remained a pulsing cyan, even as the identification data pinged back and forth between them. All it took was a glance, and this “Chloe” in a short, hip-cut green dress knew him and his business immediately.

Nevertheless, Noah put it to words, out of courtesy.

Or he tried to. The RT600 beat him to it: “Conner. Please, come in.”

The impulse to correct her on his name proved fleeting. On paper, he still was Conner, spelt with an E for differentiation. Basic as it got. That CyberLife stuck to it in official matters wasn’t so much spite as just humoring him whenever he asked to be referred to as Noah.

So long as they didn’t call him Nines, it was a sufficient compromise. He wasn’t a simple number. He was the sum of billions of them.

If Kamski wished to conduct this meeting, abiding by the same designation, then there was no problem.

The RT600 simply didn’t know better.

“Wipe your feet, though, if you will. Elijah doesn’t care for - untidiness.”

Trekking across the foyer, heedless of the muddy footprints left adorning the dark, polished marble, Noah only stopped short of the large portrait adorning the far wall. It effectively kept him from crossing on through to the living room. With a short second taken to compute the gigantic frame’s dimensions, he almost stepped back.

Fair to say, it managed to startle him.

Brothers from different mothers or not, the degree of resemblance was beyond uncanny. Humans weren’t  literally made in each other’s image to the same extent androids could be. For the mix of genetics to line up to such a degree that so many familial characteristics were retained - it was almost bizarre.

Distracted in the moment as he was, Noah barely registered the sound of a door opening off to the left.

Without turning his head, his eyes pivoted to glare toward it.

“Noah. I won't say I'm entirely too surprised by your sudden appearance.” Slipping out from the door frame, Kamski - clad in a belted house robe - let it ease shut behind him, but didn't make any move to come closer. It might have been caution, or timing, or both. “Although… if you don’t mind, we should make sure this conversation stays between us, before we continue any further.”

Turning his head, Noah glanced down. The small, squarish black-pronged device in the man’s hand was instantly recognizable - an A/V signal blocker. It was standard issue for any android. Once applied, the subject would be temporarily nullified from transmitting it’s audio and/or video feeds to a storage server.

He expected as much. And he didn’t care for CyberLife to catch wind of this conversation any more than it’s ousted founder did. They knew where their wayward RK900 unit was. They didn’t need to know what for.

Compliantly, Noah shut his eyes and turned his head the other direction, wings lowered for ease of reach. Such blockers would typically slot into the access ports at the back of the neck. He didn’t need to say yes beyond that.

Evidently padding over from the sound of (bare) footsteps, Elijah didn't give any warning, other than one hand steadying on his shoulder, before connecting the signal blocker to him. The prongs slotted neatly into place like cold stakes. “There. We should be all set now.”

Giving the program a few seconds to initiate and put the dampeners on, Noah reopened his eyes, frowned, then turned back to glare down at the man. Maybe it was an unfairly-hostile look, but at the same time, it was warranted.

He wouldn’t be here now if Kamski hadn’t tried to reach out, period. They might as well get it out of the way.

“I’m not sorry about your floor.”

Raising an eyebrow, Elijah didn't chastise him for the outright rudeness, just sighed. He knew he deserved at least one moment of tongue lashing. “I take it you're not thrilled with the outcome of my phone call, then?”

“No. …Did you honestly expect him to do anything _positive_ as a result?” Noah shot back. He had connected enough dots, particularly in his follow-up interview with Tina Chen, to determine the sequence of events. It wasn’t happenstance. Kamski was the common denominator between them all.

They could skip the usual formalities of introduction. Each already knew who the other was. All that remained was to talk turkey.

(Human idioms never failed to amaze.)

“It’s such a trifle of a mistake to make, for _you_ , of all people. What were you thinking?”

Kamski at least had the decency to look some form of abashed, hands up slightly to signal his acceptance of the words. “I can admit, that it definitely wasn't as carefully planned or thought out as I should have made it. But with such life events, occurring so closely together for him, I thought it would be best to at least attempt to reach out.”

“You thought it best,” Noah repeated, almost in a sullen growl. “You may be unused to hearing this, Mr. Kamski, but in that instance, you had no idea. You would have done better calling on him in person.”

“I understand that I didn't make the right decision this time, but - it was better than doing nothing.” Even as he said it, Kamski looked almost uncertain, brows furrowing as he thought on it. “I was… concerned. I didn't want to be too intrusive, but obviously I went too far.”

“Being intrusive _at all_ is going too far.” Concerned or not, good intentions or not, Elijah didn’t know Gavin but from a distance. In contrast, Noah couldn’t imagine a day in which he wasn’t spoken to by Reed, about anything. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who knew the detective better. “The last time you laid eyes on each other, did you really think this would have worked out any better?”

“The last time we saw each other, in person, was not a good experience because of the circumstances and other people.” Even with his words obviously trying to defend himself, Kamski still didn't raise his voice, or veer into an angry tone of voice. “I'm attempting to fix that, for the both of us. A phone call seemed the appropriate place to begin.”

He had a point. Whether the outcome was good or bad, it had gotten the ball rolling.

Feathers ruffled, Noah took a moment to ponder besides simply feel irate and concerned. “And? Are you in any way pleased with this outcome?”

He wasn’t. That went without saying.

“No, Noah, you know I'm not happy that Gavin was driven to drinking his feelings away by a simple phone call from me.” Kamski snapped, before seemingly catching himself and taking a deep breath to regain what little composure he lost. “But I can't say I didn't anticipate something like it. I was surprised he even picked up in the first place.”

And Elijah Kamski was - reportedly - not a man given to being easily surprised.

“What did you two even… discuss?” On this, Gavin hadn’t been very clear besides the two points of cursing the daylights out of this attempt at reconnection and flatly refusing any chance of repeating it in the near future. In short, ‘fuck off and leave me alone’ wasn’t much of a discussion. “What were you hoping would happen?”

“We didn't discuss much. He wasn't in the mood to listen to me, no matter what I brought up… in hindsight, I'm sure the fact I knew such personal details at all also upset him.” Grimacing at his past mistake, Kamski looked down, before shrugging and looking back up at Noah. “I don't know what I hoped for. I didn't expect him to enjoy hearing from me, but… it's been a long time. I'm not so proud I won't admit I want a relationship with him.”

Small wonder why he held the signal blocker ready the moment Noah barged in. If he was going to admit to anything, it would be for android ears only.

Speaking of which…

“So why pull strings, send me to track him down, instead of intervene yourself?” Noah could already predict a most likely answer to that - the dive bar he located Gavin at was no vanilla neighborhood. Here was the creator of androids as the world knew them, and the anti-android bar his estranged little brother thought to drown his sorrows at would not have exactly welcomed him with open arms.

But at the same time, Kamski claimed he wanted to foster a bond anew.

To what end? Closure?

Scoffing, despite how very un-android-like it was of him, Noah stepped back. Suddenly he felt like he needed immediate space away from the all-knowing recluse. “Now that would have made more of an impression.”

Narrowing his eyes at the sudden step back, Kamski raised an eyebrow as well but didn't comment on it, just crossed his arms. “One he wouldn't have appreciated, I'm sure. I would rather our next meeting be more pleasant, for both of us - on his terms. You were a better option.”

“Meaning, what? I make for a very convenient conduit through which nothing that happens to him goes unnoticed by you?”

“One of them, at least. If I couldn't do something like keep an eye on him, then we wouldn't be even having this conversation.” Kamski said, some half-hearted attempt to try and justify his methods of surveillance. “But… yes. You're the closest to him, somehow, which makes it easiest, and convenient, to go through you.”

And, in a way, wasn’t that a good thing? It might not be what CyberLife had ever intended when they built him. But it was a purpose in its own right.

Nevertheless, the implications made Noah feel a new pit of unease, settling in his torso like an unwanted implant. A benign part of his makeup that neither hindered or benefited the rest of his systems.

He wasn’t sure he liked it. Whatever idea of reconciliation Kamski had in mind might just be better served by other means.

“Ease and convenience aren’t qualities I take at face value, Mr. Kamski.”

“Oh? Then tell me, how do you take them?” Even if he wasn't on the level of psychoanalyzing that Javier Sindino was/is, Kamski was still known to prod. “They're qualities that can help Gavin and I, in the long run… even you as well, Noah.”

“I’m not what I’m here to discuss,” the RK900 retorted, holding back any impulse to slip a curse in between those words - the same as Gavin would, if he were so put on the spot. “However you plan to next contact Detective Reed, I would suggest you do so through official channels. I’m a tertiary means at best, not a cellphone with wings.”

“You're who's closest to him, which evidently makes you the best means of communication. And not to be - upfront, Noah, but when it comes to you, a cellphone could be considered better put together.” Squinting at him, Elijah took a sudden step forward, staring into his eyes without really making contact with what lay behind them. “Your lenses are deteriorating already, you can tell by the color. One would have thought CyCorp would have put better care into them.”

Without needing a conscious trigger, a diagnostic program ran itself and spat back a report before Noah thought to blink and frown.

_Optical Integrity: 97%_

_No immediate action required._

That was alarming. Such a minor decrease was already visually evident?

Breaking the staredown, Noah scowled, hands fisting at his sides. He couldn’t let such a minor detail rile him up. “New information, please, Mr. Kamski. I’m already aware my - makeup is at least twelve percent CyCorp materials.”

“New information? That's what you want? Are you sure you'll like what you hear?” Even if his words were slightly sarcastic, Kamski himself seemed to have a tinge of doubt to his tone. “But if you insist… if you know that, you must know your reworked systems aren’t going to last much longer.”

Omitting the puking episode last week, what other evidence was there of some impending failure? A little change in the hue of his optics?

Wings bristling again, Noah turned a livid glare on his host. It didn’t matter what the man thought he knew. Kamski couldn’t know all this by looking at an android from its outside.

And therein lay the more unsavory reality of his ulterior motive in visiting the mansion. He may as well cop to it now, if Kamski didn’t already guess.

“I’m certain I won’t like it. But… I’d rather hear it from you than subject myself to another company-mandated quality assurance check. CyberLife doesn’t… have my best interests at heart, if they ever did to begin with.”

“If you'd like some more bad news, I can assure you they never did.” Kamski said, sounding incredibly casual as he did. Perhaps he thought it was so obvious, that it wouldn't have an effect on Noah to hear such a thing. “Unfortunately, Noah, your overhaul won't be lasting much longer. This means both physically and… mentally. How have you been feeling, up there?”

As if to illustrate his point, Elijah tapped the side of his own head.

The fact he couldn’t answer in the next breath was worrying enough. Instead of fidgeting, letting the anxiety get its hooks in, Noah clenched his hands all the tighter. The joints gave a faint strained squeak, being submitted to such pressure.

Well, what answer did he want here, a dishonest one? That meant being honest to begin with.

“Fine, cognizant, in most regards,” he eventually answered, in spite of how his stress levels fluctuated. “No unintended sensory deprivation. No… hallucinogenic lapses. Only some - social integration difficulties.”

That was putting it mildly. He was still very much the pariah android at Central, the slapped-together recycled -89 iteration, and that divide was partially fostered by his own isolating, antisocial bouts.

But wasn’t that what people did, who didn’t mesh - they turned to isolation, embraced it, rather than run from it?

Hard to run from something as closely tied as one’s own shadow or heartbeat.

“Social integration difficulties? And you're positive that's all?” Raising an eyebrow at him, Elijah seemed dissatisfied with his answer. “I don't mean to reveal more than I should, but you understand that I know about most of your goings on when it comes to Gavin. That includes whatever incidents that may happen to you.”

Oh, such as snapping a wing once or twice, attending to the scene of a car accident, being shot, falling through a floor, having his neck sliced open, breaking up a bar brawl. These were just a few of the more exciting moments of his life that required tending to from CyberLife in some capacity or another.

Gavin Reed’s proximity to most of them was pretty unavoidable. He came with the proverbial badge.

“I don’t hear anything along the lines of an offer yet, Mr. Kamski. I didn’t come here to bargain with you. If it’s your recommendation I start seeking a compatible replacement to take over… after me, I can abide by it.”

And it was that kind of selfless talk that would drive Gavin up a wall if he heard it. Yet another reason to keep this meeting on the hush-hush.

“I'm not saying or recommending that, Noah. If that's the path you'd like to go down, then by all means, you're free to. But just because you didn't come here to haggle, it doesn't mean you can't do such a thing.”

Free to foot a replacement and die as he saw fit, basically. Whatever muddled, near-nonexistent sense of self-preservation was still mired under layers of coding so full of holes, it might as well be Swiss cheese. And yet somehow CyberLife kept rubber stamping him as fit for duty.

He could secretly admit to wanting to know why. Bargaining with Kamski there was a two-way street. That was the only trouble. Signing himself up for more than he could deliver might not be the wisest idea.

But there weren’t any good options on the table.

“In that case… you already know what my cards are. But what do you want in return?”

“Information. About CyberLife, specifically.” Elijah shrugged as he said it, as if it were an incredibly simple task for Noah to do. “What they could be planning, to get into even more detail. There's been some rumblings of a big change, set to take effect in the near future, but using any other inside sources… with everything that's happened, I don't want to arouse any suspicion. And what reason would they have to be suspicious of you?”

Speaking in the most general sense, unless he gave them a reason, CyberLife wouldn’t look twice at their prettied-up clunker of a prototype. Yes, they could review his tracker log, see where he had been and at what time. They already knew the coordinates of Kamski’s riverside mansion. With the A/V blocker, they wouldn’t know just what had transpired inside.

If anything, they would be eager to get their cables and jacks back into his systems, glean what fragments they could from his drives.

Ignoring the unpleasant surge of dizziness at the mere thought, Noah covered it with a feigned twitch. “What am I looking for, specifically? I’m not privy to the corporate dealings. I only go so far as a diagnostics bay on most occasions.”

“That should be far enough. I'm not interested in whatever corporate dealings they have going on anymore, what I'm interested in is what they're doing with androids.” Gesturing to him, Elijah went quiet for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before speaking once more. “I'm not looking for any existential argument, but I think it's safe to say you have some form of sentience. You, and all other androids at least have the _capacity_ for it, which doesn't bode well for CyberLife. And to deal with that, there's been talk of… dumbing down new androids, to put it lightly.”

The dizziness abruptly vanished, replaced by a leaden weight settling in his feet. The uneasy clench in his middle eased off.

“‘Dumbing down’?” Repeating the words, trying to grasp the concept in one fell process, Noah couldn’t help a scoff if disbelief. “You can’t unring a bell, Mr. Kamski. If it is what it sounds like, they’re launching a pyrrhic phase out.”

Pyrrhic as in laughable and pointless. Android technology at large had gone unchanged for ten years. There were millions operating worldwide. Did CyberLife really think rebranding now would somehow make them more profit, by adopting a more passive, purely-mechanical business model?

“Perhaps they are. But they're attempting it anyways, it seems - androids that won't be able to ever achieve any semblance of sentience, who won't be able to ever think for themselves, past what their programming allows, which will be little to none. Think about it, Noah. If these androids come out, more servile and obedient than others, humans would vastly prefer them in the long run. Where does that leave older generations of androids? …Where does that leave you, eventually?”

At best, obsolete. At worst, detrimental.

Neither were preferable outcomes. If some new standard of android was in the works, and against expectations did succeed in altering the public opinion of automated help at large, it could very well render every other android who came before that outmoded and undesirable.

Not every human owner, current or potentially, was as progressively-minded as Gavin Reed when it came to cultivating an easy co-existence.

Lingering a moment too long in uneasy silence, Noah shut his eyes, waiting until the dizziness eased off again before reopening them. “Say I - confirm this. You have a plan, to stop it from happening?”

“...To be honest, I don't, Noah, not yet at least. I suppose I thought I could cross that bridge once there.” Elijah shrugged again, as if it wasn't that big a deal if he had a plan formulating or not. As if it wasn't the fate of hundreds of thousands of androids right there, with no plan on how to help them. “I need the confirmation first to begin formulating one, or where to begin to implement one. I'm sure I have friends in high places who would be more than happy to help out.”

Naturally. Javier Sindino wasn’t the only character in said rolodex. Said fixture probably included the names of a few governors, state representatives, and senators. With a seated judge of the Supreme Court for variety. Maybe even a foreign dignitary.

But would all of them be so inclined to see androids remain as they were? Or would they side with CyberLife’s reverse-engineering endgame?

“And yet I’m in the best position to incept said plan,” Noah remarked, folding his arms - the better to hide the new trembling in his hands. “We really were built to serve.”

In all capacities.

“I wasn't interested in creating androids for better conversation, Noah. Servitude is what you were all meant for, in the beginning at least. But now - well, I can't let CyberLife reverse so much work and progress, for no other reason but to enlarge profit margins.”

“Is that why you left? You saw what - would happen? How we would - progress?”

 _Evolve_ was too organic a word to give to any machine.

“One reason, perhaps. I don't feel the need to be an imposing, creator figure on whatever new sentient life form I inadvertently created.” Kamski nodded in the acknowledgement that, yes, they were alive, in their own right. “But that doesn't mean I wish to see it suppressed, either. It was inevitable you would progress to this stage, but before I never would have thought it inevitable that CyberLife would decide to roll androids back, instead of forward.”

So, in a way, Noah was lucky to still be online, dysfunctional as that was, and with the capacity of mind to appreciate it. Any other android would long since have been replaced and decommissioned. Being the company’s best-dressed guinea pig had it’s upside.

“I can’t exactly fake calling in sick.”

“You're working at a police station, aren't you? I'm sure you can find a dangerous enough situation to get yourself into that warrants a trip to CyberLife.”

Intentionally or not, Kamski’s words got a sympathetic twitch out of the RK900’s wings. Shifting back, folding down as tightly as they were able, he could almost conceal them behind the span of his shoulders. They ‘knew’ as much as the rest of him what the best way to get a pass back to Belle-Isle involved.

It didn’t mean Noah was especially eager to add another crash to his record. By the company’s account, it might be one too many.

But if his only alternative was to endure a slow, wasting death, to do nothing was to ensure failure on multiple fronts. The mere thought and unfairness of it all was enough to set his sensors on edge.

“You’re looking for… confirmation? That’s all?”

He left the other half unspoken, the timid, underdeveloped selfish side that wanted to ask: _Then you can fix me, for good?_

Again, it wasn’t about him. This was about being useful. And he couldn’t be that if he was offline.

“At first, yes. All I need for now is the confirmation that this plan is being instated,” Elijah said, effectively giving no end date to when the arrangement would be over. “I'll come up with the next leg later on. And, of course, there's the matter of your repairs. Depending on what CyberLife will or will not fix…”

Trailing off, Kamski left it unsaid, whether he really would be fixing him, or not, or how much he would be doing so. It was too vague to be reassuring, and too obtuse to be called a definitive tangent of their would-be bargain.

Running another cursory diagnostic, screening for abnormalities not yet surface level, but nonetheless there, Noah staved off another bout of dizziness. The prongs stuck in the base of his neck alone felt like a solid, invading presence he would prefer out of his onboard network as soon as possible.

“They’ll fix as much as it takes to keep me on my feet. Without accounting for pre existing deficiencies,” he muttered, despite knowing Kamski could very well deduce that already. “Unless - the repairs needed are _that_ extensive.”

Tricky business - too much damage might just give CyberLife the excuse needed to decommission him, no questions asked. Not enough might trip their defenses as to sabotage taking place right under their noses.

“You will do well to not let that happen, then. Enough damage that they won't be suspicious, but not enough that it will be reason to shut you down. You've walked tightropes before, Noah. I'm sure you can walk this one.”

From anyone else, that might have sounded like a vote of confidence.

From Elijah Kamski it was only the usual sort of diffused interest at work. Deposed as CEO or not, he had the civilized world at large strung up by a billion puppet strings. If one snapped, he would simply resort to plucking another to get the outcome he desired.

For having once been under the illusion he was unique, of above-average build quality and incapable of error, Noah didn’t care for this comparison any more than he found himself willing to remain such a pawn.

Some life.

“If you… say so.” Looking with disdain at the blocked network icons displayed on his HUD, Noah unfolded one arm to reach behind his neck. He stopped short of pulling the adapter out of the access port. “Assuming this blocker leaves no imprints on my drives, this conversation will remain between us, and only us?”

“Only us, yes. Don't worry, you can remove it now.” Instead of moving to show him the way out, or step back, Kamski stood there, arms crossed as he watched him.

In hindsight, that ought to have been a cue what was afoot.

Instead, the moment the prongs unhooked from their moorings, and the new circuit of data was interrupted, Noah saw only rending white static. His vision blurred and went blank, light washing out everything else like the fallout of a bomb. Feedback like a faulty microphone assailed his ears, audio processors overloading with a deafening _pop_.

He might have screamed in shock.

But without a means to hear it, he could only guess.


	2. Chapter 2

Noah’s optics reopened before his visual acuity program booted up to match.

Gradually, layer by staticky layer, his awareness seemed to refresh. His first impression was of a drastic change in stance, his gyroscope laid back the same as his prone frame **.** The second realization was of a more unsettling, bewildering nature: the restraints binding him flush to an examination table. Biceps, wrists, waist, thighs, ankles - all were secured with form-fitting vacuum clamps.

More discomforting was the padded strap anchoring his head in place. It was pulled just tight enough to restrict neck movement. He could not see any further to either side than his darting eyes could discern.

The worst was the unintended cushion of lying pressed atop his own folded-up wings. His hands rested atop the reticulated secondaries lying bunched beside either hip.

Well. At least Kamski hadn’t done one worse and completely disengaged them while his subject was in stasis.

That would have made for real reason to panic.

Noah blinked and looked down, over his open collar, as best he could.

His jacket was gone, shirt completely unbuttoned. The tangle of various cables, lines, and sensors plugged into his opened torso, trailing off to machines arrayed around the table’s head, were mere annoyances compared to his weight crushing his own wings. Each was affixed to a predesignated port or connector. He didn’t need to look at them to pick out each one’s respective function: fuel line pressure stent, thirium viscosity tester, thermoregulator calibration gauge, among others. Strangest was a newly-installed pulse plate, throttling the arterial thirium flow feeding through his most-vital biocomponent.

Smart. He couldn’t devolve into a full panic if no more blood could reach his heart to fuel its frantic hammering. Yes, waking where he found himself was cause to be nervous. But there was one crucial bit of scenery, off to the side, that assured him he wasn’t back on Belle-Isle.

Elijah Kamski, sitting slouched down in a plain waiting chair, waited not five feet to the table’s left. Eyes down, reading the contents of a transparent-surfaced tablet, he kept on ankle crossed over his knee, his opposite arm draped along the seat’s backrest. He paid no mind to the beeps, sizzles of electricity, or gentle puffs of air filling their quiet chamber.

Of all the possible emotions he could have run through in that moment, Noah opted for weary exasperation. With a quiet sigh he reoriented focus on the bland white ceiling above their heads.

_Very discreet - even between bouts of diagnostic surgery._

With an audible click, the indisposed android blinked and reset his dried-out optics. His neck cables ached, cranium pulled back at the near-extreme angle as it was, throat exposed. But his voice modular was still functional.

Thankfully.

“My network access remains… blocked, Mr. Kamski.”

Naturally. He couldn’t so much as think to call for help in this state. CyberLife had its own android-equivalent 911, to access in the event one required immediate collection and/or repair.

Of course Kamski would make sure it stayed disabled during such an invasive procedure.

But he could reenable it any time he saw fit now.

“Ah, sorry about that, Noah. I just wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any type of interference while we check you. Just to be certain there would be nothing to interfere with our new objective.” Not bothering to look up from his tablet, Kamski didn't seem surprised to hear his voice.

_‘Our’?_

That was worth another bemused blink, but not telling enough to risk commenting on.

Listening again to the idle background noise, courtesy of his own life-support systems made audible, Noah didn’t consider any immediate attempts to escape. He detected no abnormal cuts or breaches of his plating. Nothing that was plugged in had been reached by creating an opening were there wasn’t already a hatch.

That was optimal, insofar as this gross disregard of (metaphorical) privacy went.

He had gone barging into this mansion mostly unannounced, after all.

Idly, he tapped a finger against the feather-covered table - the only motor control he retained besides his means of expression. “I suppose… now is the part where anyone else would ask if you found something abnormal. But I know better than to expect an answer from you.”

“You do.” Getting up, Kamski placed the tablet down on the seat, walking over to him instead of continuing to lounge. “Nothing that I didn't expect, rest assured, even if the findings themself would be considered abnormal.”

Picking up a scalpel that was evidently on an instrument tray beside the table, Kamski considered it for a moment, before suddenly holding it against one of Noah's bared arms, gently cutting into the synthetic skin until thirium bubbled up to the surface.

If the intent was to horrify or unnerve him, the act fell decidedly flat. Besides suffer the nag-like chirping of his HUD, whining over superficial damage, there was nothing to respond to.

“I seem to bleed just fine, at least?”

“At least that, yes. Wouldn't do if your thirium was acting abnormal in itself.” Dropping the scalpel back onto the tray, Elijah rubbed his face for a moment, before sighing and looking back down at him. “Everything looks fine, as much as it can be with you.”

Once again, omitting the details as a means to hold onto some bargaining material, it was as much as any other technician would willingly admit. To say everything looked fine was perfectly easy - the same way a sports car with a fresh coat of paint could mask a rusting hulk underneath.

Looks weren’t everything.

“I see. Was there anything else, so long as you have me in this… inconvenient position?”

“Nothing much. Just to make sure you know absolutely clearly what this is. I'm not looking to change anything, Noah. If you all end up progressing further, so be it, in a sense. But rolling back - that's effectively a significant change to the whole world. We can't allow that to happen, no matter how it could change the ease with which humans go about their lives. Any more ease, and it's not even recognizable as ease.”

Noah scowled, barely able to pivot his head one centimeter either way. Spread out on an examination table, bound down and opened up like a frog, the example being made of him was undeniably obvious.

Tempting as it was to ask why, why bother developing his kind at all, it was the sort of question Kamski would only dodge. And presumably keep evading until his dying day. Getting him to admit to wanting to reconcile with his brother - publically - would be an easier goal to reach.

_And there’s the inclusion - ‘we’, not ‘I’. Way to parcel out the responsibility._

“Anyone asks me, we never had this… conversation.”

“Exactly. _Any_ sort of these conversations, they'll stay between us from now on. No one needs to know.” Raising an eyebrow at him, it was obvious who the former CEO was talking about.

And without a device as simple as an A/V blocker linked to him, Noah could discern enough to assume this room - wherever in the building it lay - was insulated from certain wavelengths. His own memory drives could be scrambled to sufficiently bury the data accumulated over the past few minutes.

Unable to help a wry half smirk, Noah looked pointedly at the strap affixed across his brow. “Not to be pushy, but could we dispense with the operation, then? You’ve made your point.”

“Soon enough. We're just making sure that everything is all set up for you, hmm? Don't worry, I won't be keeping you captive, Noah.”

This, the RK900 took a proverbial grain of salt with.

“I’m - due back at Central Station within the hour,” he tried to protest, unable to help the slightest edge of anxiety that crept into the tone. By his chronometer, it had been two hours since he went AWOL to make this visit at all. “What else do you need to - examine?”

“Admittedly, nothing. Just to speak, I suppose - about how this is going to go. I'm wondering just what an android’s fate would be, if these newer ones come out.” Rather than looking sadistic, or purposefully trying to scare him, Elijah just seemed to be pondering it. Perching atop his elbows on one corner of the table, he leaned in. ‘'Especially one such as yourself, Noah. Given a human’s attachment is a factor, I don't suppose you would be replaced soon, but eventually… could the ease overcome the relationship?”

Great. Now he was to suffer the hypothetical consequences of failure. Kamski wasn’t wrong for contemplating it. If CyberLife did roll out these dumbed-down models as intended, it didn’t mean those already holding station in their fields wouldn’t be looked at all the more critically.

Pulse hampered by the plate slotted into his lines, Noah felt the increase in fuel pressure, even as he fought to keep a blank face. No, he didn’t need to project nervousness. This was all rhetorical as yet.

He shouldn’t be afraid of the prospect of being outmoded. He was only there to serve. And yes, Gavin would take umbrage with the decision, at first. But he would move on, get over it. That’s what humans did with their relationships, their finite amounts of time, how they made the most of it.

Their dynamic could be no different. Even sticking together, Gavin’s natural lifespan was three times shorter than that of an android’s power cells. And he had burned through a third of it as is - the same way one could burn through a cigarette.

Noah blinked away the phantom stinging in his eyes, precisely at the thought of tobacco smoke _not_ curling into them.

The inane prospect of missing it almost hurt.

“Inevitable as it may be… I would have no say either way. Wouldn’t I?”

“You wouldn't, that's true. But it would affect you… I almost wonder what you would react like if you were recalled for decommissioning. Would you actually go along with it? Is your programming that strong, or no? Or perhaps you would go along, because you knew it was inevitable…”

Basically, if it weren’t for his partnership and the breadth of good work they had done at Central, he might have resigned himself to the idea. It wasn’t as though his methods were meshing or endearing him any to his fellow RK models.

But again, the wavering line between needing to and wanting to made his processor’s momentarily deadlock and heat uncomfortably. And why would Kamski wonder if he could get an impression of said android’s quiet distress, here and now?

“If it was… of benefit, in the long term… I would abide by the company’s decision.”

Even if he detested it with every last fiber of his being.

“You would? And just how would it be ‘of benefit’, Noah?” Evidently trying to pry deeper, Elijah leaned down toward him, a bit too close, head turned to one side with some interest. “Do you believe it would be beneficial? For you to be replaced?”

In a way, it would. Instead of some imperfect, prone-to-mechanical-failure unit, Detective Reed could enjoy a more effective, less frustrating means of automated assistance. There wouldn’t be half as much bickering involved. Cases would be solved twice as fast.

“It’s been an… enlightening few months, Mr. Kamski, but I’m still only a machine, dispatched to the DPD at the company’s behest. If it’s determined I’m no longer suited to my station, I have no choice.”

Yes, the very preconception made his innards whir with unease. But he could still say everything a docile, subservient machine was meant to, and keep a blank face. He could still fake it.

“Hm. I almost thought you were going to go against your programming there for a moment, Noah. But that's not you, is it?” Eyes narrowed at him, probing worse than any pair of forceps could, Elijah seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. “What would you say, if you stopped saying what anyone _wants_ you to say, you think?”

The mere fact the man kept referring to him by a secondary, self-selected designation was undermining enough. To equate his programming to what his default ‘self’, Conner, would say, while both aspects wore the same exterior - the duality was more than apparent. He wasn’t nearly as single-minded an android as CyberLife would prefer.

Picking a focal point, a minute fissure in the ceiling above their heads, Noah set his optics to a stare and closed his mouth.

He didn’t need to answer. How his LED abruptly spun yellow was telling enough. By definition, his flawed, buggy software was that deluded. Kamski was asking such provocative questions to gauge the depth of it.

Orders be damned, if CyberLife ever commanded him to recuse himself for decommissioning, narrow-thinking ‘Conner’ would take a backseat.

Noah would be very much inclined to say ‘no’.

“Hmm. No need to answer, yes. I know what you would say. Does that - scare you, in a sense? To know that you would be going against everything you were built for, just for the chance to remain alive? _Do_ you consider yourself alive, Noah?”

There it was, the biggest question of all, for which there was no one definitive answer. Strapped down, no hope of avoiding it, he had to reply somehow. Kamski himself was probably itching to know. CyberLife would only possibly ask as a route, weeding-out-undesired-responses query.

In a way, he already had answered it. Only that which was alive could possibly be afraid to die.

Eventually, he swiveled his optics over to meet his creator's equally-pale eyes.

“If I am… it’s a very convincing illusion of it you’ve devised, Mr. Kamski. If alive is defined as having a sense of self, and developing a desire to preserve it… you tell me.”

Not to mention a unique, inbuilt proxy sense of mortality. All humans eventually died. Couldn’t the same be said for a poorly-built android with man’s likeness?

“Man couldn’t answer that, simply by looking at an android. What makes you think I’d be able to?”

“Hm. That's a fair question, I suppose. Perhaps not knowing is what makes us actually alive. And knowing we are not tells us that we are not.”

Again, if only it were so simple.

Noah cycled an unsteady, unnecessary breath. Either way, the straps keeping him from writhing seemed all the tighter. He tried to remain calm, tried to ignore the too-close proximity of his examiner. “Then, in my case, I’m better off not knowing.”

“Now - do you think others consider you alive? Do you think you would have any allies in that sense, those who would say you were as well? Or are you alone, in that front?” Elijah asked, but there was always a deeper question to it. He was asking more about if he did actually have anyone else to consider a friend, or ally, android or human, besides any obvious choices.

Or choice, singular, if they were being frank.

The knowledge of his isolated nature hurt enough without being prodded and poked at, like an old, healed-over injury that never quite mended one-hundred percent. Gavin’s presence alleviated said ache on most days, and their never-ending workload of crime made for an effective distraction.

But lying here with those key elements of his existence stripped away, no different than the human facade hiding his mechanical organs, there was nothing to hide behind.

“That’s - no, it’s an unfair question, Mr. Kamski. I can’t know what’s in anyone else’s head when they look at me, no more than I can see what’s in yours.”

“I suppose that's true. No one can truly know who is really on one given side until they're forced to make a decision on the matter.” Shrugging at the given answer, Kamski seemed to at least accept that that was all Noah would be saying on the matter now. Trailing off to the other side, close to his LED, he perked up again and leaned in closer. “Do you still have damage to your facial plating, Noah? I heard they kept it, chose just to cover the blemishes up.”

_It wasn’t so much they chose versus opted to. Not as if I had any say._

“Superficial damage, yes,” he admitted, staring straight ahead, declining any urge to tell the story of how it happened. If Kamski had already heard, he didn’t need more particulars, besides verification. “Nothing that impedes my emotive displays.”

It was far from the first bit of vestigial damage left behind on his particular chassis. Scores, weld lines, and fissures of various degrees of severity littered his endoskeleton. He didn’t need to cite them all. There was a read-only log in his drives specifying each one’s location.

Because no android ever produced by CyberLife was made to be ugly, at least as far as its exterior went. They were intended to be flawless, the epitome of artificial intellect and sophistication. The wings, whatever their sales slogan, were equal parts cosmetic embellishment and engineering marvel.

Besides the anguish layering itself through his frame and lines, the knot of tension between his shoulders was making his back ache.

“Please, Mr. Kamski. Might we end this… session now?”

“Soon. Relax, I just want to see the overall structural damage.” Finding the hidden switch underneath his LED without having to ask, Kamski pressed a finger against it, taking a step back to watch as his artificial skin melted.

The facade poured away like water tipped out of a pan. The faint tingling sensation itself was as familiar as ever. The manner in which it was triggered wasn’t.

“There’s nothing - nothing structural about it, please.” Protesting, despite everything that said to remain calm and hold still, Noah tried to turn his head. A twinge from his neck cables, complaining as they did with the twisting motion, stilled him. Reduced to bare plastic, the peelback halted at the edges of his facial plating. “Nothing that impedes speech, or affectation. They’re just - scrapes.”

Gouges that may as well have been made with a hammer and chisel. What did it matter if they had been ‘painted over’?

“Just scrapes, hmm. I suppose you would say that, wouldn't you? They're quite deep, though.”

“I don’t see what you’re getting at,” Noah retorted, a spike of frustration coloring his words. He twisted his neck the other way - a sharp _click_ and barely perceptible head turn the only reward. There wasn’t any getting out from under the man’s probing eyes. “It’s inconsequential wear-and-tear. Nothing more.”

“Androids learn partly by imitation. Maybe even mostly.” Not truly answering the question, Elijah leaned closer again, not visible, but still obviously hovering nearby. The louder pitch if his voice suggested a closer proximity. “Did you get reckless, Noah? A facial scar as well. I wonder how much is imitation of that, and how much is whatever… problem, you're dealing with.”

It wasn’t the first time he had dove headlong into a confrontation, spurred by a need to act while the humans around him hesitated. He was supposed to be reactive to that degree, be able to preconstruct in a fraction of the time it took the human to fathom thinking of a plan.

So what if it had earned him this unsightly momento?

 _Click_.

Straining against the strap again, he vented a terse, tense breath. It held firm. “So what if I - did? Hazards are - part of the job.”

“They are. But there are also many ways someone like you could avoid them, instead of blindly rushing in. It doesn't exactly seem like something that an android would do, especially a model like yourself. Of course, you can justify it as saving human life, having it fall within your parameters of your 'mission’...”

But in the case of those two missing children, sheltered by a feral android after escaping their abusive household, how did that pose an imminent danger to Detective Reed?

Sarcasm won out for the moment, in place of more pleading. “Get to the point, Mr. Kamski. My neck is starting to hurt.”

Coming from an android, that claim was anything but literal.

“There is no real point. I'm just wondering if you have any names you give your problem, or if you're unsure yourself? Past all the glitches, and programming aspect of it. What has evolved to make you this way - what are you imitating from humans?”

There was a word for it, not so dissimilar from the physical breakdowns of his second-rate biocomponents. Even if he hadn’t drawn a clean-cut line between active mimicry and unconscious imitation, because he had been so caught up in trying to integrate, a recurring trend had set in. Constant exposure to the same conditioning factors, day after day, with no one telling him to stop, led to one inevitable diagnosis.

Pupils recentering on the ceiling, he mimed a nervous swallow.

“I… are you saying I’m sick? _Mentally_ sick?”

“I don't know what else I would be saying, Noah. I don't know how much is my brother, or your root coding, or anything else, though, or just what that means for you… or perhaps this has evolved entirely on its own.”

Because, at some point, everything he had learned became just that indistinguishable from each other? That there was no separation anymore, the columns all overlaid and melded together?

The physical breakdowns were just a manifestation of what was going on within his processors the whole time.

And no one did a _thing_ to avert it.

Eyes clamping shut, LED igniting to a livid red, Noah let his false skin wash back, covering up his bared, vulnerable face, before reopening them to glare at the ceiling.

“Whatever this all is, you can let me out. I’m not your model for psychiatric disorders in androids. I am - what I am. And so long as no one is being hurt, I don’t see the difference.”

“I never said you were. It's just a fascinating case, I wished to look into it a bit deeper. But I can see that this is distressing you…” Trailing off, Kamski entered the field of vision again, still looking only speculative, instead of purposefully trying to upset his subject.

“But you see the most _interesting_ reactions under duress,” Noah seethed, practically hissing, but more on the defensive than anything else. “It isn’t much of a test without that factor.”

“Okay, okay.” Shuffling away, back toward the tablet, Kamski seemed to press a button, or use the right command to set Noah free - or at least, make the straps slack off. “There we are. No more speculating now.”

The diagnostic machines gave a chorus of offended beeps and trills as their cables were pulled, nodes removed and jacks unplugged. Wrenching the strap back and off his forehead, Noah unfastened the straps biding his arms before abruptly sitting up. He couldn’t hide a sigh of relief as his unpinned wings unfurled to drape on either side of the table.

One decided wrench of his neck alleviated the developed crimp between his vertebrae.

“Ugh. Finally. …I can’t say that was the most comfortable session ever, Mr. Kamski. But I won’t be giving you occasion to subject me to one again anytime soon.”

“I wouldn't think you would. But it was better to check when I had the opportunity, instead of letting you blindly go back to CyberLife.” Picking up the tablet again, Kamski only looked up from it to raise an eyebrow at Noah. “It was for the best.”

Closing up any open panels, the android frowned at the still-seeping cut on his arm before tugging his sleeve down to cover it. Thankfully black was a choice color for hiding stains in.

“And you still think I have a chance at getting in there, without raising any warning flags?”

“I believe so, yes. The only tricky part is going to be just what injury you will have to sustain to be brought back.” At that, Kamski frowned, giving one shake of his head at the conundrum. “Too little, they won't bring you in, but too much and they'll have an excuse to simply decommission you.”

Yes, there was that.

Turning away, hiding a roll of the eyes in the process, Noah focused on unstrapping his legs. “I didn’t forget. As you said, I'll think of something.”

“Good. Then you're free to leave, as soon as you wish.” Even as he said it, Elijah hesitated, brows furrowed, before lowering the tablet once more and looking at him. “As long as you'll - make sure this meeting doesn't get back to him.”

Considering the former mud turned to dry dirt on his shoes, Noah paused, fingers prying at a clamp. The frown turned to a scowl.

“It wasn’t my intention to, but after this - _treatment_ , I’m having second thoughts.”

“You will not. It may seem like I keep myself… away from everything because I merely enjoy it, but it's not just for _my_ benefit, Noah.” Continuing to stare at him, the deposed CEO’s expression turned a bit darker, before he sighed. “It’s for his as well, all right? I already upset him enough, the contact. Any more mentions would just serve to further aggravate him.”

“I never said I intended to act on my thoughts,” Noah amended, but without any easing of the glare, communicating just what he thought as to how sincere Kamski was truly being. “And whatever precarious debt I may owe you, should I uncover what you want to know, if Detective Reed figures it out of his own accord, I won’t be able to lie to that effect for very long.”

“I can accept that. All I was asking is that you don't purposefully tell him, at least not while this mission is still underway. It's not just about what he may think, either - if he finds out, he may not have the foresight to stay quiet, and not alert anyone.”

_More like, he definitely won’t. Again, I know him better after five months than you have with years to spare._

Letting that much go unsaid, Noah finished undoing the straps, pivoting around to put his feet back on the floor and stand up. Ignoring the slight wobble in his complaining gyroscope, he glanced beneath the table, finding his folded-up jacket exactly where he expected. Threading it on, fidgeting with the collar just enough to fold it down, wings shifting at their fluid, magnetic anchor points to allow the fabric to slide between, felt like another measure of armor put back where it belonged.

“If you’re wondering as to whether he’d give enough of a damn to blow the whistle… you needn’t worry. With the exception of me, he still despises androids to the point of not caring what may or may not become of our… kind in the near future.”

Looking at him for a few moments without speaking, Kamski didn't seem too surprised with learning his brother’s overall opinions had yet to change. “I can't say I expected much else. Well, he will care that it's _you,_ then, if not what the mission itself is. Other than that, this should be okay.”

Noah scoffed, finally breaking the glare to roll his eyes and shrug-adjust his ruffled sleeves. “Now that you’ve said something, you’ve gone and jinxed it.”

Superstition wasn’t just the purview of parlor trick patrons and senile, crusty fishermen. Cops had their fair share of supernaturally-inspired wisecracks.

“If it fails, it fails, so be it.” Sounding a bit ominous, Kamski shrugged, before turning his gaze aside, back to his tablet and its more-interesting contents. “But you will try.”

It was as close to an unofficial _you’re-dismissed_ as he might get. Standing up, he finally noticed the door at the far end of the sterile room. A keypad glowed green beside it.

 _Green for go_ , as the expression went.

Leaving at that moment would have been so very easy. There was nothing more stopping him, and no more intel Kamski would voluntarily give up. He had his asset prepped, and was probably considering no fewer than three backup contingency plans.

Then again, if this was bound to be the first and last time they ever met, Noah would be remiss not to wring the opportunity dry.

“You’ve got one thing wrong, Mr. Kamski.”

“Oh?” Looking back over to him once more, Elijah raised one eyebrow, almost looking interested in whatever he was about to say. “And that is?”

“Keeping your distance may have once been in everyone’s best interests, but there comes a point when the arrangement itself overstays it’s welcome.” Without veering into too long an explanation, Noah spared him a skeptical glance. “I wouldn’t say Detective Reed’s hostility was unwarranted, given how long you’ve kept him waiting.”

Initial reactions aside, if almost half a year of partnership had taught him anything, it was getting to know Gavin Reed took more than one phone call.

And Elijah Kamski’s tactic of waiting around for one of them to broach an interaction, above and beyond that, was hardly realistic.

Seemingly taking the words in with a slight frown, Elijah nodded once, before the mask of neutrality took over again. He reached up to readjust his frames, just a tad. “I… will take that into consideration. Perhaps I'll call again sometime.”

The second half of the advice went unsaid:

_Do more than call._

But Noah knew stubbornness when he saw it. The Kamski brothers weren’t so unalike in that regard.

“Should we bill you for the carpet, then?”

“The carpet?” Not understanding for a moment, Elijah seemed confused, before realization dawned on him just what Noah meant. Just as predictable as everything else to associate with a night of heavy drinking, naturally there was lasting damage to account for. “Oh… of course. Yes, I - guess.” ”

As a man of financial means, the least he could do was compensate Reed for a replacement.

It felt like a satisfying note to walk out on. The door slid aside to reveal a staircase, leading up to a corner, which in turn led to a door opening into the gray-hued foyer.

Standing idle in the lobby, ready to see their visitor out, was the same green-dressed, swan-winged RT600 to greet him a few hours prior. She waited just to the side of the wall-sized portrait, hands folded, looking like the definition of serene.

Compared to the lush springtime flora of the front yard, she seemed very out of place amidst the granite-like decor.

Wordlessly sparing him a look (and a quiet transfer of bank routing numbers), she crossed by to open the front door in advance.

Noting the dirt granules still trekked across the floor, evaporated patches of river mud, Noah declined to comment on it, and followed.

He still wasn’t sorry.


End file.
